


Winter Fever

by TransScribe



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Anxious Thoughts, M/M, Stanchez Micro-Bang 2016, Swearing, Underage Drinking, mentioned Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransScribe/pseuds/TransScribe
Summary: It’s a cold winter this year and Rick’s immune system is not strong enough for the current weather. His ego is not prepared to admit that, though. (High School!Stanchez au in which Rick is a stubborn fool.) Alternate title: “I’m Not Sick, I’m Rick”----This took me approximately a million years to add here. I got to a point for a while where I felt too weird to post it after such a long time. Nice one, me.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing art to go with this https://scarscarchurro.tumblr.com/post/151729540291/my-contribution-to-the-stanchez-bang

The bitter wind blew through the town as Stan grabbed his coat and backpack. It hadn’t snowed yet, but he could tell that it wasn’t far off. It sure as hell was cold enough.  
Stan slipped through the door quickly. It was even colder now that the sun had set.

  
He recalled the promise Ford had made him before he left. That nerd better keep it.

  
_“Why, Stanley? It’s freezing out there, you’ll get sick.”_

  
_“I just gotta, Ford. I gotta see ‘im."  
_  
 _“And you want me to do what, exactly?” Ford questioned.  
_  
 _“I need you to cover for me. If dad comes in to check on us just tell ‘im I’m asleep or something.”  
_  
 _Ford sighed.  
_  
 _“I’ll try. Just be careful when you go. Grab your coat.”  
_  
 _“Yeah, yeah, whatever, ma.”  
_  
 _The twins chuckled._  
   
Stan smiled as he walked down the path. He would drive, but the car would be too loud. His dad would definitely hear that. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to warm his already numb fingers.  
  
It took him 15 minutes to walk to reach the Sanchez household. He usually wouldn’t mind, but it was freezing out tonight.  
  
Stan walked around the back of the house. He knew better than to go through the front by now. The floorboards in the hallway and the staircase creaked too loudly. It was easier to shimmy in through Rick’s window.  
  
He easily made his way onto Rick’s balcony and rapped on the glass doors.  
  
The curtains moved back slightly as Rick peered out the window. Once he spotted Stan he threw the doors open and pulled the other boy inside. Once the doors were closed, Rick spun around and threw his arms around Stan’s neck.  
  
“W-what the fuck were you doing out there?!” He exclaimed. “I-it’s fucking freezing!"  
  
Stan pulled the taller boy closer to him. “Yeah, yeah. I missed you too.”  
  
There was a comfortable silence as the two of them held each other. Stan could feel Rick shivering slightly through his thin jumper.  
  
“You’re shaking,” Stan stated. Rick pulled away to turn up the heater.  
  
“It’s ‘cause this house i-is cold as shit. And I don’t exactly have th-that much meat on me to keep me warm,” he joked. “Siddown.” Rick gestured vaguely towards his bed. He fiddled with the radiator for a while before he gave up and dropped down on the bed next to Stan.  
  
“So, does your dad know y-you’re here?” Rick asked.  
  
Stan laughed bitterly. “Nah. He’d kill me if he knew I was sneaking out. Well, unless it was to see a girl.”  
  
He sighed, falling backwards so he was laying down on the bed, one arm outstretched and the other hanging limply off the side of the bed. Rick flopped onto the bed next to Stan, laying across his arm.  
  
“I know th-that feeling.” Rick muttered.  
  
They lay like that for a short while before Rick spoke up.  
  
“W-what's in the bag, Lee?”  
  
Stan hummed in question before remembering the backpack he brought with him and chuckling.  
  
“Whiskey.”  
  
Rick jumped up from the bed, his eyes wide.  
  
“Why di-didn’t you tell me?! Let’s crack this baby open a-and get wrecked!”  
  
Stan chuckled again as he pushed himself up off the bed. Rick had already opened the bag and pulled out an unopened bottle, twisting the lid off and taking a deep gulp. He made a slight face at the burning sensation in the back of his throat before letting out a deep breath and relaxing visibly.  
  
“Y-you got the good shit, Lee.”  
  
“Only the best for you, sugar,” Stan teased, taking the bottle out of Rick’s grip.  
  
“I hate you,” Rick mumbled.  
  
“No you don’t.”  
  
“I wish I did.”  
  
Stan faked shock at that. “After all we’ve been through, all I’ve done for you? What about all those times I’ve risked getting caught by my dad?” He put on a pained expression. “Do you even want me here? Because I’ll leave!”  
  
Stan walked towards the window as if he was actually about to leave, his back to Rick.  
  
“Aw, babe, don’t be like that, come back.” Rick reached out, grabbing Stan’s arm and pulling him close again. It was good that Stan wasn’t actually trying to leave, the amount of weight and muscle strength he had over Rick would have made it impossible to drag him back.  
  
The two were standing face to face, mere inches apart. Stan pulled Rick down by his shirt. He could taste the whiskey on his lips. Stan smiled. Rick chuckled.  
  
“Y-you’re a-a-a, you fucking sap.”  
  
Stan couldn’t take the somewhat-insult seriously in the slightest once he noticed the red tinge to Rick’s cheeks. He took a deep swig from the whiskey bottle before passing it back. The liquor burnt his throat on the way down, causing him to cough, but once the sensation passed he could feel the pleasant warmth spread through his body.  
  
The two started to sway where they stood after the second or third swig, leading to the joint decision to sit on Rick’s bed instead.  
  
The two sat side-by-side, their backs against the headrest. It was an impressive feat, managing to fit on the tiny bed, what with Stan’s broad shoulders. The situation was most likely aided by Rick’s lean figure. The two continued to pass the bottle between them until they were both considerably drunk. The bottle was about two thirds empty by this point, and Stan had just enough sense to screw the lid back on before dropping it the short distance to the floor.  
  
Stan squirmed down so he was laying on the bed rather than sitting, the alcohol in his system causing him to feel drowsy. He let out a loud yawn as Rick moved to lie on his side, his head resting on his boyfriend’s chest. He tucked his legs up slightly in order to fit them completely on the bed.  
  
“M’ parents’ll be outta-outta town ’s weekend,” Rick slurred from a mixture of alcohol and tiredness, his eyes closed. “Y’should co-urp-me, c’me over. Y’wouldn’t haveta sneak ‘round any-anym-, y’wouldn’t haveta sneak ‘round. It’d beee-urp-e good.”  
  
“Yeah, ok. I’ll come stay for th’ week’nd,” Stan slurred in response. Rick nodded in acknowledgment against Stan’s chest. He shivered as the cool evening breeze seeped through the gaps in the balcony doors.  
  
“Y’cold?” Stan mumbled, concern evident in his words, even with this level of intoxication. Rick hummed in response, another shiver answering Stan’s question better than the noise. He pulled the blanket out from underneath them (it wasn’t easy - there was a fair amount of wriggling involved) and draped it over the two of them. Rick smiled sleepily as he snuggled closer to the warm body next to him.  
  
They were silent for a while, both close to falling asleep. However, before either of them did, Rick made a realisation, but he was too comfortable, tired, and drunk to really do anything about it.  
  
“Lee?” He mumbled. Stan hummed in response, too close to sleep to form an actual response. Rick paused, wondering if it was worth bringing this up now. He didn’t want Stan to leave, but he realised the other boy might be annoyed at him for not reminding him to get home once they were sober.  
  
“D’you say somethin’ Rick?”  
  
“Y-yeah, shouldn’t you get home?”  
  
Stan furrowed his brow at the question, tensing up slightly. It wouldn’t have been noticeable if Rick hadn’t had his head on Stan’s chest.  
  
“Did ya want me t’ leave?” He asked, trying to keep the hurt tone out of his voice.  
  
Rick squeezed his arm. “Nah, jus’ wanted t’ make sure y-y-y-urp-, make sure you didn’t wanna.”  
  
Stan relaxed again, putting one arm around the thinner boy. “Mmkay. G’night, Rick.”  
  
“Night, Lee.”  
  
Silence fell over the pair again, the only sound in the room being their quiet breaths and the wind whistling outside. Rick was happier that night than he had been in a long time, the warmth and presence of Stan’s form a comfort to him, his boyfriend’s steady breathing and heartbeat lulling him to sleep.  
  
——  
  
Stan opened his eyes to a pitch black room. He felt a weight on his chest and the familiar warmth of another person curled into his side. The throbbing headache came soon after. Hazy memories of the night prior filled his mind, aided by the fact that there was only one person he would be with this late at night. Late at night? Early in the morning? Stan wasn’t sure. He carefully pried himself away from Rick’s hold, careful not to wake him. Rick had enough trouble getting to sleep most of the time, and Stan was grateful when he could get some rest. He worked himself too hard, sometimes.  
  
He quietly snuck into the bathroom, careful when passing over particularly creaky sections of the floor. Who knows what’d happen if Rick’s parents knew he was there, what kind of assumptions they would make as to why he was here in the first place.  
  
As he washed his hands, his eyes flicked over the the clock on the wall.  
 _“Shit,”_ he whispered under his breath. It was approaching six am, and Stan needed to be home before seven.  
  
He crept back into Rick’s room, turning the light on and finding his bag. He quickly shoved what was left of the whiskey back in it. Rick slept through the change in lighting, surprisingly.  
  
“Rick,” Stan whispered, shaking his shoulder gently.  
  
“Mmf.” Rick huffed, opening one eye slightly. “What?”  
  
“I gotta go.”  
  
Rick groaned, pulling on Stan’s arm. “No y-you don’t. Stay.”  
  
Stan chuckled gently. “C’mon Rick, I gotta get home. Besides, I’ll see you later.”  
  
“Yeah, but that’s di-different. That’s school, y-you know it’s different at school.”  
  
The other boy sighed. “Yeah, I know, but my dad’ll kill me if he finds out I was here all night.”  
  
Rick exhaled deeply, letting go of Stan’s arm. “Yeah, alright. I-I get it.” He pushed himself up from the bed, standing about a head taller than his boyfriend.  
  
“SSSShit, my head is killing me,” the skinnier of the two groaned.  
  
Stan chuckled. “I know that feeling,” he mumbled, his own head still throbbing.  
  
Rick smirked, leaning down to meet Stan’s lips. Stan slid his arms around Rick’s waist as they kissed. Rick had one hand on the other boy’s neck and the other in his hair. The taller boy pulled away slowly, moving his head so he could gaze into Stan’s eyes. The look on his face was so gentle, so full of admiration, it took Stan’s breath away.  
  
“Rick…” He let the sentence hang.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I-I know. Just… Gimme a minute.”  
  
Rick studied Stan’s face, causing the other boy to blush under his gaze. He placed another soft kiss on his lips.  
  
“Ok,” he muttered, nodding. “You-you can go.”  
  
Stan nodded back, an apologetic look on his face. “You know I’d stay if I could.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. But y-you can’t. Now hurry up a-and go, you sap.”  
  
“Says you,” Stan quipped as he pulled on his jacket. “See ya at school.”  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
Stan laughed.  
  
“Bye, Lee.” Rick smiled as Stan waved at him before making his way down from the balcony.  
  
 _God, my boyfriend is such a nerd._  
  
——  
  
Stan slipped through the front door, quickly and silently, ducking up the stairs as swiftly as possible. He made it to his shared bedroom without anyone noticing him.  
  
The bedroom door creaked quietly as he opened it, as it always did. Ford’s head turned suddenly to see who had just entered. He relaxed visibly when it was Stan who entered the room as opposed to their father. He walked over to his bed and collapsed, hoping to be able to nap before they had to be up.  
  
Ford had a different idea. He came down from his bed, pulling up a chair and settling in next to Stan’s bunk.  
  
“Don’t you fall asleep, Stanley. You were gone all night and I want answers.”  
  
Stan groaned, pulling the covers over his face. Ford pulled them back down.  
  
“Stanley, answer me.”  
  
“I told you I was going to Rick’s place. I just slept with him, it’s no big deal, I’m back now and dad’s not awake yet.”  
  
“You did what?!” Ford whisper-shouted.  
  
"What? No, not that." Stan smirked. "At least, not this time.”  
  
Ford's eyes bulged.  
  
"Best part is, you got not idea if I'm kidding or not.” Stan laughed to himself before turning his back to his brother and pretending to fall asleep.  
  
Ford sighed, climbing back into bed. He probably wouldn’t sleep, but it was warmer under his blankets than sitting on that chair.  
  
Stan realised it was much harder to fall asleep without Rick curled up against him.  
  
——  
  
Rick was right, and Stan knew it. School /was/ different. They had to hide their relationship, the romantic aspects in particular.  
  
There was also the fact that kids like Stan - athletic kids, boxing kids - didn’t hang around with punks like Rick.  
  
Their time together at school was narrowed down to glances across the halls or when they had to “put up with each other” during classes.  
  
They shared quite a few classes, however; the only positive aspect of that brick prison.  
  
Stan sat in silence, staring over at Rick rather than doing his work. Thursday afternoon - he only had to get through one more day of school before he could go and spend the weekend with his boyfriend. Although, as he looked over at Rick, he noticed that the other boy looked tired, more so than usual, and he had a slight paleness to his tan skin. He coughed loudly before stopping himself. Stan saw his breathing become irregular as he forcibly stifled the sound. His brows furrowed in concern as he ripped out a strip of paper from his workbook and scrawled a message on it.  
  
The bell rang and Stan jumped from his seat. He walked past Rick’s desk and dropped the note in his lap as discretely as possible.  
  
 _Meet me in the room_  
  
Rick smirked slightly. As he crumpled the note and shoved it into his pocket, he grabbed his things with the other hand. He left the class and moved towards the room.  
  
The room was something he and Stan had found while skipping PE one day. It was behind an old ’staff only' door that had been long forgotten.  
  
Rick closed the door behind him, the stairs downwards dimly lit by the cracked window.  
  
He opened the door at the bottom of the staircase and stepped into the room. The light bulb Rick had replaced bathed the room in light. Stan sat up against the wall as he ate, one knee drawn up.  
  
God, he was beautiful.  
  
Rick walked over and sat down on Stan’s lap, his back leaning against the other’s knee. He leaned forward to place a kiss on Stan’s cheek.  
  
“So what’s up?” He inquired, shuffling slightly to get more comfortable.  
  
Stan stayed silent for a moment, his eyes darting across Rick’s face, examining.  
  
“Are you ok?” Stan asked suddenly.  
  
Rick’s brow furrowed.  
  
“You know I-I’ve gotta avoid you at school, or people’d start spreading shit-"  
  
Stan chuckled. “No, not that, I mean are you _physically_ You seem sick.”  
  
“Rick Sanchez doesn’t get sick, babe. I’m-I’m fine.”  
  
Stan looked at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised, his expression one of concern, before he nodded.  
  
“Yeah, alright. Just… Let me know if you’re not feeling well, ok?”  
  
Rick scoffed. “Y-y-you worry too much. I’m fine, I’m never sick.”  
  
Stan smiled softly as he shook his head. “I worry ‘cos I care, Rick. You’re important to me.”  
  
Rick blushed, half-heartedly muttering about Stan being a sap as he buried his head in his boyfriend’s shoulder. They stayed there for a while, content in each other’s warmth.  
  
The two heard the faint ringing of the school bell from where they sat. Stan sighed, knowing what it meant.  
  
“What’ve you got next?”  
  
“Dunno. Something shitty, probably.” Rick chuckled. “I mean, i-it’s school. It can’t be all that, all that good.”  
  
It started as a chuckle. Something small, but then the two of them were laughing. Real, loud, belly laughs. Rick fell forward, resting his head on Stan’s chest as they evened out their breathing.  
  
“You-you’ve got a weird sense of humour, Lee. I’m not even th-that funny.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” Stan wrapped his arms around Rick. “You were laughing too.”  
  
“I-I-I was laughing at you laughing! I mean, th-th-the joke wasn’t even that good!” Rick cackled. Stan snickered as he watched Rick, a warmth spreading through his chest.  
He was snapped out of his daze as Rick’s laughter turned into coughing, loud and concerning. It was over as soon as it started, however, although Stan wasn’t sure whether it was because he was finished coughing or because Rick was _making_ himself stop.  
  
“Are you sure you aren’t sick?” Stan asked. Rick moved backwards to glare at him. Stan raised his hands in surrender. “Ok! Ok! I get it, you’re not sick, I’ll stop asking.”  
Rick nodded in agreement before moving his head forward to lean on Stan’s shoulder again.    
  
“C’mon, we gotta go,” Stan whispered, nudging Rick, who groaned.  
  
“We-We’re already late, and it’s not like we haven’t skipped before. Why don’t we just stay here?” Rick suggested, reluctant to move from where he sat. “Besides, i-if you’re so concerned about me getting sick, you really shouldn’t let me out in that cold like this,” Rick teased, gesturing to his thin clothing.  
  
Stan nodded, settling back down against the wall. He shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around Rick’s shoulders, who hummed contently. The thinner boy promptly fell asleep where he sat, Stan not willing to wake him. It wasn’t as if he was bothered by it. No, not at all. In fact, Stan soon fell asleep as well.  
  
——  
  
Stan was home late that evening, staying in the room with Rick past the end of school bell.  
  
 _“W-what time is it?” Rick rubbed his tired eyes._  
  
 _“Uh… ‘M not sure.” Stan checked his watch. “It’s ten past.”_  
  
 _“Ten past wh-what? Two, three?”_  
  
 _“Four.”_  
  
 _“Shit!” Rick jumped to his feet. “Y-y-you’re kidding me, right Lee?”_  
  
 _“No, why? What’s wrong?”_  
  
 _“My dad’s gonna fucking kill me!”_  
  
 _“When were you meant to get home?” Stan stood up, stretching his back._  
  
 _“Ten minutes ago!”_  
  
 _“Shit.”_  
  
 _“Yeah, shit.” Rick groaned and tugged at his hair. “What th-the fuck am I supposed to do?”_  
  
 _“Hey, hey, it’ll be alright,” Stan assured him, taking both his hands. “I’ll drive you home, it won’t take long. Besides, your dad’s probably not home yet anyway.”_  
  
 _Rick breathed deeply, centring himself on Stan’s hands wrapped around his own. He nodded. “Y-yeah, ok.”_  
  
 _Rick tried to hand Stan’s jacket back when they reached his house. Stan shook his head. “Keep it, you’re already sick, don’t want you getting worse.”_  
  
 _Rick scoffed. “I-I already told you, I’m not sick.” He pulled the jacket closer around his shoulders. “I’m keeping th-this because it smells like you.”_  
  
 _Stan smirked. “So you’d rather be a sap than admit to being sick?”_  
  
 _“Yes,” Rick responded, shutting the car door. Stan chuckled. He watched as Rick opened the front door, ducking his head inside before turning back to Stan, giving him a thumbs-up. His parents weren’t home yet. Stan drove home then, relieved that he hadn’t caused Rick any trouble._  
  
He unlocked the door, ducking into his room before either of his parents could ask where he had been. Ford was bent over school work, text books and sheets spread across the desk. He looked up when Stan entered, swiveling around on his chair when Stan went to lie down on his bed.  
  
"Where the hell were you?!" Ford exclaimed.  
  
Stan shrugged. "Rick and I skipped the last two classes and fell asleep in the room."  
  
Ford was the only other person who knew about the room. The twins shared everything with each other and after discussing it with Rick, Stan decided to show him.  
  
Ford sighed. "Stanley, you need to be more careful about this. At this rate, dad's going to get suspicious. And you know full well that things aren't gonna end well if he finds out."  
  
Stan puffed his cheeks out. "I can't help it, Ford. Sometimes I wonder if his reaction would really be that bad. If it means I have to stop sneaking around, maybe it'd be ok."  
  
Stan stared up at the wooden beams of the top bunk. Ford leaned back and ran his six left fingers through his hair.  
  
"Have you ever considered that it might be _worse_ if dad found out? That he'd keep a closer eye on you and make it harder to see Rick?"  
  
Stan rubbed his face and groaned. "I don't know! I'm just tired of it, Ford. I'm tired of hiding everything. I'm tired of having to pretend that I'm this dumb ladies' man. I mean, I like girls, but I like guys too, but I have to keep that part of me hidden and it frustrates me to no end."  
  
Ford laughed humourlessly. "Tell me about it. At least you like girls at all."  
  
"Yeah, but you're different. You've got the nerd card. Dad just thinks you're too focused on school to be interested in girls."  
  
"Heh, yeah."  
  
Silence fell between the two. Stan folded his hands behind his head.  
  
"Rick's parents are out this weekend. I'm staying over," Stan mentioned.  
  
"I can't cover for you for a whole weekend, Stanley."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I know."  
  
"What'll you tell them?"  
  
"Probably that I'm staying with some of my boxing buddies. They'll never check up on it, anyway. I'll be fine."  
  
Ford nodded, rubbing his tired eyes. There was a knock on the door.  
  
"Boys, dinner," their mother's voice called through the wood.  
  
"Be right down," Ford called back.  
  
\----  
  
Stan didn’t see Rick at school on Friday. They had no classes together, so he wasn’t overly worried, but he was still looking forward to that evening.  
  
The classes dragged on longer than usual, leave the teen constantly _seconds_ from flipping a desk.  
  
But the school day ended, finally, and Stan left faster than he ever had before.  
  
Once home, he packed a few things in his duffel bag - clothes, alcohol, a few extra blankets - and headed towards the door.  
  
“And where are you off to?” his father questioned.  
  
“I’m staying with some friends. Y’know, buddies from boxing,” Stan responded without facing his dad.  
  
Filbrick huffed in response, looking back down at his newspaper.  
  
“If you’re going to see some girl, I won’t stop you. Don’t do anything stupid,” he grumbled, his tone telling Stan not to respond.  
  
Stan just nodded his head, going to grab his coat before remembering Rick had it. He took a deep breath and walked out into the bitter evening. He couldn’t take the car, it was too recognisable. His dad would notice immediately if it was outside Rick’s house.  
  
Walking there would keep him warm, he told himself.  
  
His teeth were chattering by the time he reached Rick’s house. His parents’ car wasn’t in the driveway. He could go through the front door. He sighed a breath of relief, steam rising from his mouth.  
  
He knocked on the door, his knuckles stinging from the cold. The door creaked open, revealing Rick with Stan’s coat wrapped tightly around him. Rick smiled, before noticing the other boy shivering. He began to take the coat off to give it back but Stan grabbed his hands and zipped it up again.  
  
“Don’t you dare. You’re already sick.”  
  
Rick rolled his eyes. “Are we really doing th-this shit again?”  
  
“Yeah, we’re ‘doing this shit again’. And I’ll keep doing this until you admit you’re sick.”  
  
Rick scoffed, gesturing for Stan to follow him to the couch.  
  
Rick stifled a cough and cleared his throat. “I-I was gonna try ’n’ make something to eat, but I’m not sure what I’ve got."  
  
Stan dropped down to the couch, wrapping a blanket around himself. Rick looked through the cupboards in his small kitchen.   “There’s-” Rick stopped to let out a cough. A long, rattling cough. Followed by another. Then another. By the third one Stan had jumped over the couch and ran into the kitchen to be greeted by Rick leaning heavily against the counter top.  
  
“Woah! Hey there!” Stan grabbed Rick and moved him to sit on the floor. Rick was breathing heavily by the time the coughing fit had ended.  “Fuckin’ dust,” he wheezed.  “I don’t think you’d react that badly to dust if you weren’t already-”  
  
Rick cut him off with a glare. Stan rolled his eyes.  
  
“Why don’t _I_ make something while _you_ rest? You look like you haven’t slept in days,” Stan suggested.  
  
“But y-you’re the guest here.”  
  
“Exactly, I should show my gratitude for your generosity.” Stan grinned. “Besides, I’ll be here all weekend. That’s like, what, another 5 or 6 possible meals you could cook for me, depending on when I leave.”   Rick smiled slightly and agreed.   “Y-you better take your jacket back before you get sick too. The-the heating in here is fucked.”  
  
Stan smirked. “Before I get sick _too_? Does that mean you’re admitting to being sick?”  
  
Rick realised what he said. “No! I-I meant… I didn’t… Shut up, Lee!”  
  
Stan chuckled, ruffling Rick’s hair. He slipped his jacket back on while Rick grumbled and fixed his hair.  
  
\----  
  
The two ate the pasta Stan had made as they sat on the couch and watched some show, paying more attention to their food and each other than what was happening on the screen.  
  
Stan noticed when Rick stifled a cough, eyes watering and breathing becoming irregular.  “Y’know you’re allowed to cough, right?” Stan half-joked.  
  
“I-I don’t need to cough. ‘M not sick,” Rick insisted stubbornly. He cleared his throat roughly and placed his empty bowl on the coffee table.  
  
Stan sighed. “C’mon man, what’s so bad about being sick?”  
  
“I-I’m better than that, I’ve risen above. Being sick i-is for chumps. Rick Sanchez isn’t a chump, therefore I-I don’t get sick.” Rick perched himself on the arm of the armchair Stan was sitting on.  
  
Stan chuckled. “Are you saying you’ve never been sick before and never will be in the future?”  
  
“Never. In fact, since you keep bringing it up, maybe _you’re_ ”  
  
“Oh really?”  
  
“Yeah, really.”  
  
Stan chuckled at Rick’s stubbornness, his face now only inches apart from Rick’s.  
  
“I w-wouldn’t recommend kissing me right now. Y’know, seeing as y-you’re sick, and all.” Rick mumbled.  
  
Stan laughed at that. Rick grinned. He loved the sound of Stan’s laughter.  
  
“C’mon, we should go to bed. Doesn’t matter which one of us is sick, you still look exhausted.”  
  
Rick nodded and yawned. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders like a cape and walked up the stairs towards his room. He lay down on the bed, on the side towards the wall, and settled in.    
“So being tired is fine, but being sick is not?” Stan asked, amused.    
“Everyone gets tired, Lee.”  
  
“Everyone gets sick, too.”  
  
“Th-that’s just not true. I-I’m living proof that that is false.”  
  
Stan chuckled, lying down beside him. “You’re a stubborn ass, Rick, you know that?”  
  
Rick smiled and curled up in the warmth. “Yet y-you put up with me, anyway.”  
  
“No goin’ back now.”  
  
Rick laughed quietly, his eyes closed.  
  
“G’night, Rick.”  
  
Rick’s even breathing was his only response.  
  
\----  
  
Rick woke up alone, the smell of coffee drifting up the stairs. He groaned as he stood up, stretching and walking to the kitchen. He found Stan making breakfast, two mugs of coffee already sitting on the bench.  “Hey! No fair! Y-you said I could cook for you!” Rick protested.  
  
“Yeah, but you were asleep and I was hungry. And you still have 5 meals you could cook for me.”  
  
Rick grumbled, leaning against the counter.   “Wh-which one’s mine?”  “Left one.”  
  
Rick took the coffee mug to the left, blowing on it before taking a sip. A slight smile crept across his face.  
  
“I-it’s good. Y-y-you make good coffee.”  
  
Stan smiled at the compliment, a blush dusting his cheeks. He leant further over the food to hide it.   Rick tried to stifle a cough with a sip of coffee, but it forced its way out. Coffee sprayed from his mouth, half the mug spilling down his shirt.  “Shit, Rick!” Stan shouted, turning down the stove and helping Rick peel his shirt off.  Rick swore loudly, his chest red and slightly burnt, the coffee mug still held tightly in his grip. Stan took it from him and placed it on the counter, using a tea towel to dry his front.   “Damn, the kitchen really isn’t a good place for you, is it?”  “W-wha’d you mean?”  
  
“Well yesterday you got a lungful’a dust, and you just spilt coffee all over yourself.”  
  
Rick narrowed his eyes. “Are y-you trying to convince me not to cook for you?”  
  
Stan laughed. “Nah, I’m just pointing out the fact that maybe you should be careful around dust and hot liquids because, oh, I dunno, maybe because you’re sick.”  Rick groaned. “When are y-you going to drop this?”  “When you admit that you’ve got a cold.”  
  
“Never gonna happen because I-I’m not sick.”  
  
Stan shook his head. “Go rest. I’ll bring you more coffee.”  
  
Rick nodded, taking his damp shirt and the towel.  “Oh, and put a shirt on,” Stan reminded him. Rick turned around, brow quirked. The shorter boy blushed.  
  
“It’s the middle of winter.”  
  
Rick smirked, leaving the kitchen.  
  
\----  
  
Stan cleaned the breakfast plates in the kitchen sink. He could hear Rick coughing from the other room, followed by a thud. He paused what he was doing, turning towards the doorway. Rick walked through, rubbing his head gently.  
  
“Did you just run into a wall because you were coughing?”  
  
Rick hesitated. “No?"  
  
“Let me rephrase that. Did you just run into a wall?”  
  
“Y-yes.”  “Was it because you were coughing?”  “Obviously not, w-why would I be coughing? I-I’m not sick.”  
  
“So you just ran into a wall for no reason?”  “Everyone gets lost i-in their thoughts, Lee.” Rick kissed Stan’s cheek, taking a towel and drying the dishes. They worked together in silence, and before long everything was done.  
  
\----  
  
Rick cleared his throat, eyes crinkling with pain. He hadn’t spoken much for the past hour or so, and Stan was worried.  “Does your throat hurt?”  
  
“No.” Rick’s voice was soft, barely there.  
  
Stan sighed, standing up. He returned a few minutes later with steaming mug of honey and lemon.  “Try not to spill it again. Drink it slowly.”  
  
Rick nodded, holding the mug gingerly. He took a careful sip. Finding it at a drinkable temperature, he took another, the warmth soothing his throat.   “I’m only drinking this because i-it’s sweet. I-I don’t actually need any of this,” he lied. Stan chuckled.  “Shut up and drink it, you ass.”  
  
\----  
  
Rick vowed to prove Stan wrong about this “being sick” bullshit. Stan was his guest for the weekend, they finally had time together without worrying about his parents, he wouldn’t ruin it by being weak.  
  
He was going well, Stan seemed less concerned about him.  
  
Until he started feeling dizzy.    
  
Rick stumbled into the wall, causing his boyfriend to look over at him with concern.  “The hell was that?”    
  
Rick struggled to find an explanation. “I-I’m drunk?”  
  
“I know for sure that you haven’t touched any alcohol this morning.”   
  
“I’m still drunk from last night?”  Stan got up and walked over to him.  
  
“Bullshit. Tell me what’s _actually_ ”  
  
“I-I’m _fine_ , Lee. Y-you don’t hav’ta worry about me.”    
  
“You know you’re a shit liar, right?”    
  
“Not true. I-I get away with lies _all the time_.”  
  
“Let me rephrase that. You’re a shit liar when you’re lying to _me_.”  
  
Rick’s eyes flickered away. He mumbled something that sounded like “well y-you didn’t have to say it out loud.”  
  
Stan sighed. “C’me ‘ere.” He placed a hand gently on Rick’s forehead, finding it warm to the touch. “You’ve got a fever. Go to bed, I’ll bring you soup or something.”  
  
Rick tried to protest, but seeing the genuine concern in Stan’s look filled him with more guilt than the other shouting at him would have. He didn’t need to cause him any more trouble.  
  
\----  
  
True to his word, Stan turned up with a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. Rick grumbled something about not needing to be treated like a child, but he accepted the food anyway. The soup was hot, burning his tongue slightly, but it was good. Stan knew how to cook.  
  
He shuffled over in the bed to allow Stan to slide in next to him. A large arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling the skinnier boy closer.    _Maybe being sick isn’t so bad._  
  
\----  
  
The sun had set, the cold Saturday night forgotten as Rick curled in closer to Stan’s warmth under the covers, coughing before letting his muscles relax, his boyfriend’s hand resting on top of his as he covered his aching stomach muscles.  
  
“You can’t deny you’re sick forever, y'know.”  
  
Rick huffed out a laugh, eyes closed and body weary.  
  
“Maybe I’m not as indestructible as I-I think I am,” he admitted quietly. Stan smiled at his small success, the room now silent. Rick broke it after a pause. “Although I probably di-didn’t need you fussing over me all weekend. Y-y-you’re like a fucking mother hen.”  
  
Stan chuckled. “You love me anyway.”  
  
“Heh, yeah.”  
  
The room was quiet again, both of them too tired to properly realise what Rick had admitted to. It wasn’t as if it was anything they didn’t know already.  
  


After all, Stan Pines doesn't spend his weekend caring for just anybody.

 


End file.
